


Yes Times a Trillion

by 221b_hound



Series: Captains of Industry [32]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops & Cafés, Australia, Barista John, Celebrations, Cobbler Greg, Marriage Equality, Melbourne, Melbourne hipster cafe scene, Multi, Tailor Mycroft
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-16
Updated: 2017-11-16
Packaged: 2019-02-03 04:50:32
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,080
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12741327
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/221b_hound/pseuds/221b_hound
Summary: John, Sherlock and their friends gather at Captains of Industry to await the result of Australia's non-compulsory, non-binding survey to determine whether the country supports marriage equality.  Anticipation beforehand varies, but the response is nigh on universal.  YES!





	Yes Times a Trillion

**Author's Note:**

> Early on I decided I wouldnt' have any of my Australian versions of these guys marry until they could actually legally do so in Australia. 
> 
> Guess I might be writing some stories.
> 
> [ Some information on the plebiscite here](https://www.theguardian.com/australia-news/2017/nov/16/australians-voted-in-massive-numbers-for-marriage-equality-and-a-fair-go). A bill for marriage equality has already been introduced into the senate. The bill has to be [debated and passed in both upper and lower houses for it to become law](https://www.theguardian.com/australia-news/2017/nov/16/dean-smith-introduces-same-sex-marriage-bill-to-parliament), but it's hoped they'll manage this by Christmas.

9.40am.

The morning pre-work coffee crowd has come and gone. Now it’s all coffee meetings, late breakfasts, and breathless waiting.

“It’s not like it even matters,” complains Sally. She’s here well before her usual midday stirring. Three coffees down already, a fresh latte already in front of her. “It’s a non-binding plebiscite,” she continues bitterly. “All this fucking around, all this ‘let’s debate if queers are actually human’ and there’s no guarantee it’ll even stick.”

Over the last few months, while the Australian government shirks its law-making duty and outsources its human rights obligations to a survey, tempers have flared. Sally has told anyone trying to justify the No camp to fuck right off.  Mrs Hudson has let her.

John’s got too much pride to make bad coffee for anyone, even people who don’t think he should be allowed to get married, and anyway, they don’t get many of the naysayers in Captains of Industry.

9.45am.

“Even if it’s a majority yes, it won’t be law,” Sally grumbles.

“It’ll be a majority yes,” Molly says, studiously calm, but she keeps making anxious fists, flexing her hands. “The polls for years have said Australians are in favour of marriage equality. It’ll be yes.”

Sherlock has his head down at his computer, running algorithms for a few clients, acting like it’s nothing to do with him.

John puts coffee next to him, though, a bit too hard and loud, and Sherlock’s hand briefly covers John’s. Squeezes. John takes a calming breath and returns to his machine. The rhythm of the pour will keep him calm almost as well as Sherlock’s touch.

Mycroft is in his office, stitching. Like Sherlock, he seems nearly oblivious.

Greg is in his workroom. He’s supposed to be making shoes but he’s twice almost glued himself to the soles he’s preparing, so he gives up and waits by the door to listen.

Mrs Hudson turns up the radio.

9.50am.

Irene Adler and her girlfriend Kate run up the stairs, but it’s only when they cross the threshold they hold hands.

“Breakfast after,” says Irene, throwing herself elegantly into a seat. “It might have to be gin slings.”

“At the ready,” Mrs Hudson says, but adds with determined optimism. “And the champagne.”

9.55am.

Mary Morstan strides in.  “Coffee later,” she says. “After champagne.”

“You’re confident,” says Sally, as though that’s a character flaw.

Mary isn’t bothered. “I am. We’re going to do this thing.”

“It won’t matter,” mutters Sally. “It still won’t be law. It won’t make up for all the shit that’s happened. Do you know how many kids have been calling the suicide lines? How many adults?”

Mary does know. She volunteers on the boards every week. But she doesn’t say so. It’s not about her. But she believes, with all her heart and all her considerable intellect, that the fear campaigns haven’t worked. As a criminal lawyer, Mary Morstan sees the worst that people can be every working day of her life. But she also sees that on the whole, her fellow citizens aren’t as bad as the worst commentators make them out to be.  She thinks most people are pretty much live and let live, and she thinks that’ll show.

She hopes it does.

10.00am.

Down at the State Library, where the radio station’s commentators are poised, the air is fizzing with apprehension. That fizz communicates over the airwaves.

David Kalisch, chief statistician at the Australian Bureau of Statistics, finally arrives, ten on the dot. He promises not to draw this out, but draws it out, just a little. He knows nobody will hear a word he says about the good work done by his team _after_ he announces the result.

Kalisch says 79.5% of people voted. “Outstanding for a voluntary survey,” he says.

Molly squeaks.

Almost 80% of 18-19 year olds voted.

“Doubts that they knew how to use a post box shattered then,” observes Mary dryly.

Sally makes a sound through her gritted teeth, a strangled scream.

“7,817,247 people voted yes,” Kalisch says.

Sherlock sits up straight.

“4,873,987 voted no.”

Mycroft appears at the door of his room, reaches out. Greg takes his hand.

“Sixty one point six percent,” says Mycroft, having already done the maths. His voice isn’t working very well.

Sherlock is on his feet, which are taking him towards John, who’s already on his way to Sherlock.

“In Australian voting terms, that’s a landslide,” declares Molly. She’s not angst-flexing her hands any more. She’s staring at Sally, her eyes huge and round, lashes clumping with tears. Her heart is thumping.

_Sally’s going to say something cynical. Sally’s going to point out it’s not even law yet. Sally’s going to say it doesn’t change anything, really._

What Sally does is scream and jump out of her chair. She runs to Molly and picks her up and swings her round and round and round and round, kiss-kiss-kissing her lovely girl, until they sort of collapse onto the floor, slow motion, still kissing.

The announcer is saying something about 133 of 150 electorates saying Yes to marriage equality, but nobody is listening. Irene and Kate are hugging and crying. Mrs Hudson, Mary and the Captains crew – who have finished hugging now – are popping and pouring champagne for everyone in the café, couples and allies alike.

Mycroft, all unexpectedly, has burst into tears. He’s holding onto Greg, who is holding onto him.

They wear rings, they call each other husband, _but now_ , they think, _now I can make it true. Make it truer. Make it so nobody ever says I can’t be with you. In sickness and in health, but especially in sickness, if you’re in hospital, if you’re hurt, nobody can ever legally make me leave your side_.

A small but persistent fear, soon to be utterly crushed. Soon nobody can’t ever pretend they aren’t everything to each other, because they’ll have the same stupid bit of paper as everyone else.

“S’okay baby, s’okay,” murmurs Greg, rocking his darling in his arms, crying too, kissing him.

Sherlock and John have stopped in front of each other. Not touching, unless you count their mutual gazes that go right past needing skin contact and light on each other’s souls instead.

“Marry me,” says Sherlock.

“Yes,” says John.

It’ll be an hour before anyone gets any coffee. John and Sherlock won’t stop kissing long enough to make it possible.

That’s okay, though.

There’s plenty of champagne.


End file.
